It’s a good thing, especially in a world of growth percentiles, towering charts and expectations that can rattle any parent’s confidence.

Little Mate’s not the biggest talker, but as he edges closer to the “big two”, his health book has it he should be saying about 50 words and a few sentences.

He has the essentials, which include: “Gog” for dog, “At” for cat, na-na, nan-na, ap-ple and ball!!!!!

And all of that is fine.

Because children then show us they are smarter we can ever think.

In the lifetime of recent weeks, Little Mate showed approval with thumb up.

He has cried “no” when led to bed.

He has begun to paint.

He can whack an underarm, ping-pong ball overhead, with but a glossy roll of cling wrap.

And, in that fateful restaurant playground, when his father, behind glass screens that sever parents from reality, shook arms and cried for a tap out, my son drew on his inner Marlon Brando and mocked his old man.